


Southern Slang and Other Things

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Banjos, Confusion, Fairies, Fluffish, Gen, Humor, Lazy Susan is only there for about a paragraph, Mystery Trio, Rico is mentioned, Wee bit of angst, awww yes, lots of humor, platonic, shmebulock sr, so many southern sayings it's silly, this was supposed to be sad but then it wasn't, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Ford thinks his brother is so dumb that if Stan had an idea it would die of loneliness.Stan thinks that Ford could start an argument in an empty house.Fiddleford just thinks that both of them make him feel angrier than a cat on a hot tin roof and that they could both be happier than a dead pig in sunshine if they stopped arguing for two seconds!





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for that summary. It's ridiculous. 
> 
> Also, I got really excited about this idea that kinda hit in the middle of the night, so I rushed the process of reading it three billion times to look for mistakes. So sorry if there are any misspellings or something.

Stanley frowned, bruised knuckles and sore fingers gripping the wheel. He really needed to get a better job... But this one paid well, enough to get him some actual food anyway. The pit in his stomach deepened as he pulled the Stanley Mobile into the parking lot. This was going to be his last job, the whole hitman business didn't sit right with him, no matter how much it paid. (Wasn't that hilarious? The con man growing a conscience.) He stepped out and stretched, back popping. He'd driven as fast as he could to this place, Rico had emphasized the importance that this event went down well. Some faceless whack job scientist had made him look bad after he backed out on a deal with Rico and fled from New Mexico. Stan chuckled as he thought about the guts the man had for double crossing the mob boss like that.

Stanley scoffed as he surveyed the small town. He wasn't all that smart unfortunately. The man should've picked something farther than a couple states away. This place, what was it again? That's it- Gravity Falls- wasn't exactly Fort Knox.

Stan huffed as he trotted over to the diner, the most bothersome part of the deal was that the transaction hadn't required names or faces to be exchanged. Both parties had been pleased by that, until of course, the scientist had scammed one of the most feared mob bosses in the pacific northwest.

He pushed open the door and the townsfolk stopped, eyes wide as they took in Stanley. Okay... He forced his most charming smile and waltzed over to the bar. A woman with bright blue eyeshadow watched him approach as she cleaned a coffee pot. As soon as he leaned against the new shiny wood, the woman grinned, "Hello, handsome."

"Hiya lady I'm looking for somebody."

He could see the disappointment painted on her face, "Oh, I suppose you'll be wanting to see that mysterious scientist up off Gopher road."

That sounded about right, however, why she'd jumped to that conclusion immediately was beyond him, "Absolutely, ma'am. Do you have the exact address?"

"618 Gopher road, but you can hardly miss it. It's the only place up there." She sighed, "All these newcomers arriving and leaving, not ever coming down here. Sad too, that young man from Palo Alto sure was a looker. 'cept for the nose though..."

He gave her another charismatic smile as he read her name tag, "I won't be forgetting this, Ms. Susan."

"Oh, such a gentleman."

He decided not to prolong the conversation any longer, no matter how pretty the lady was. He waltzed out with a wave, smile dropping as soon as he was out of sight. Ugh, he wasn't looking forward to beating the heck out of the scientist. It never sat right with him. This was his last job, though. Rico has said he'd owe him a favor after this and Stan was going to use it to get away scot-free.

He ran over a squirrel on the way up to the place. Just great, the little kamikaze fuzz balls always seemed active when it got warmer. He stopped the car to inspect the damage and leapt back in surprise when the 'squirrel' he'd run over was a small bearded man with a red pointy hat. It also wasn't dead. The thing stood up shakily, saw Stan, and wailed a gruff, " Shmebulock Senior!" before it ran off.

Stan rubbed his eyes, "I'm seeing things. I just had far too much caffeine on the way over. That's all."

He got back in the car, more than a little anxious to leave the odd place. As he drove further into the pine forest, he tried to ignore the way the trees seemed to move in his peripheral vision. It was nothing, that's all it was... When he pulled up to the house, he heard the distant sound of banjo playing. Yep. Whack job.

The gravel crunched under his shoes as he stepped out of the car, the wind blowing across the grass and birds singing in the background. He breathed in the scent of fresh wooded air. Today was a nice day. He frowned, except for the fact that he was up here to teach somebody not to mess with the Mexican mafia.

Something bit him and he smacked at it reflexively. Mosquitoes always ruined a beautiful day like... His train of thought stuttered to a halt at the sight of a squished fairy on his arm, she peeled herself off and flapped away in a wavering ball of pink dust. A long drawn out string of curses filtered through his mind before he settled on a single g-rated sentence, "Man, Sixer sure would love it here."

A moment later he cautiously knocked on the door. It creaked open, unlatched, "Uh, hello?" There wasn't an answer and he moved farther in. It didn't feel right to be walking in on some stranger's house... He shook his head, he wasn't here to be polite, he was here to teach some unlucky soul a lesson. He frowned at the darkness that enveloped the place. Who had turned off all the lights?

It was then that he noticed the banjo playing had stopped, his instincts kicked in when someone hollered and leapt out from behind the sofa, a long weapon-like shape in hand, "Intruder!"

Stan grabbed the lethal instrument before it could smash him in the face, "Whoa! Wait!"

The man, once he realized his weapon was useless, let go- slipping away like a quick footed cat into the bowels of the house. Stan tried to grab at him, but he was left with a banjo of all things and utter bewilderment.

Stanley hesitated at walking further in. This was home territory for that crazy man. It turned out to be the smart decision because the next second, the slight man returned with a broom, "Aaaatttttack!"

He managed to thwack Stanley firmly across the shins before he again grabbed the end of the makeshift weapon and shouted, "Calm down, will ya?! I'm not an intruder!"

The man froze, "Yer not?"

"No!"

He hastily brought the broom down beside him and proceeded to speak in a thick southern accent, "Well why didn' ya say so? Fiddleford McGucket, what're you doin here?"

"Uh, well, I..." He noticed the white lab coat, the one thing the dim light from the door illuminated, and he wilted, "I'm lookin for a scientist up here."

"Well, that's not very specific. Which one of us didja wanna see?"

"Uh, there's more than one?"

"Yep there's me and, oh hold up. Ya can't seen nothin in this light. Sorry 'bout that by the way. My ma always said home territory gave ya the advantage. I know this living room like the back of my hand, ya'll didn't. Turnin off the lights seemed like the smart choice."

It wasn't a good sign that Stanley found himself liking this Fiddleford more and more. The lights blinded him momentarily, but when his eyes adjusted, he found himself looking at a slight, floppy-haired, long-nosed man in a white lab coat and flower print shirt. So this was the face of the crazy hillbilly who'd just tried to kill him.

Fiddleford adjusted his glasses and blinked a few times before his mouth opened in a wide 'O'. He sputtered for a minute before he finally managed to get out, "Well don't that jus' dill my pickle."

Stanley frowned, what on earth?

Fiddleford continued, nodding sagely, "Yer not lookin for me though. Come on back, he's jus' downstairs."

They went down two flights of stairs and got into an elevator that required a code to operate. This place sure was strange. Stanley followed the banjo-wielding maniac, "By the way, your door was unlocked. That's not the smartest thing." Fiddleford snorted, "That'll be all his fault again. Half the time he's so caught up in things that his mind gets as lost as last year's Easter egg. I told him that if he kept forgettin' somethin' like that, someone unsavory was gonna wander right on in and make themselves at home. I was right too... not that you're unsavory I mean, but well, my point still stands. Oh, that didn't come out right at all, did it?"

Stanley laughed despite himself, "You're weird, I like you."

The doors opened and Fiddleford hopped out like an excited jackrabbit, "Stanford! We have a visitor!"

Stanley froze in shock. Stanford? The man at the controls turned, an excited grin on his face before it sort of melted into a disapproving frown. Dill his pickles indeed, that would certainly explain everybody's reaction. The lady at the diner and her immediate and certain assumption that he'd want to go up here, McGucket's sudden shock...

"Stanley. What're you doing here?"

Fiddleford crossed his arms, "I thought ya might know him, Ford. Would you like to tell me why ya have a secret twin? Ya some sort of cliched supervillain?"

Stanley let out an offended noise, " _Secret?_ Ford, I excepted better of you. Especially keeping secrets from good ol' Fiddleford here." He slapped the skinny man on the back with such force that Fiddleford nearly fell over.

Ford raised an eyebrow, the pen in his right hand clicking absentmindedly before he wrote something in the red book in his other hand, "What? Good ol'...? When did you two become friends?"

Stanley grinned, "He tried to kill me."

Fiddleford rubbed his aching shoulder and nodded, "He caught my banjo before I could bash his head in!"

Stanford's eyes narrowed, "I should've known you two would hit it off. Now would you mind telling me why you decided to drop by? Mom didn't call you, did she?"

Stanley put his hands on his hips, "And why would she ask me to call you, Poindexter?"

"Uh, no reason."

Fiddleford watched the whole familiar yet grudging exchange with wide delighted eyes. He spoke, "Well slap my head and call me silly! Ya'll'er just cuter than a toe sack full of puppies."

Ford rolled his eyes. Stan grinned.

"What do you want Stan?"

His grin dropped, "Well for one, ma didn't send me. You did." Ford frowned again. Geez was his face permanently stuck like that or something?

"That doesn't make any sense, Stan. I didn't do anything of the sort."

"Well see here, Poindexter, you didn't happen to be in New Mexico recently, did you?"

Fiddleford nodded, "Yes, we were, how did ya know that? We were just there to fetch some parts about a few weeks ago, I reckon. Nothin' too noisy. Ford how did he know that?"

Ford had paled, "Um, yes?"

Stanley pursed his lips, "You nerds need to be more careful. Ford here scammed one of the most feared mob bosses around."

Fiddleford crossed his arms, "Is that why we cleared out so fast? You said somethin' about one of your experiments fermenting and that we needed to get back right away. Did you lie to me?"

"No!"

The small southern detected this second lie easily, "Ford, don't you dare pee down my back and tell me it jus' rainin'."

Stanley nodded with approval, "You're getting pretty creative, Fidds."

Ford stuttered incredulously, " _Fidds?_ "  
  
Fiddleford grinned widely, "I got a nickname!"

Stan looked at the hillbilly thoughtfully, "I should be writing these down, you got anymore good ones banging around in that noggin of yours?"

Fiddleford puffed out his tiny chest, "Course I do! For example, Ford here can sometimes be slicker than owl sh-" "Okay! That's enough! Stanley, you still haven't told me why you're actually here!"

Stanley shrugged, "Okay, business. Right. So I may or may not be involved with Mexican mafia and I may or may not have been paid to come up and beat...? What's one of your sayings, Fiddlenerd?"

"Stuffin'."

"Right, beat the stuffing out of you for double crossing Rico."

"Seriously, Stanley?! The _mob?_ "

"What was I supposed to do, Stanford? Anyway, obviously I'm not going to be getting my payment anymore. Maybe I should fake my death. Then he definitely won't come looking."

Ford sighed, "Look, why don't we all go upstairs and think this through. You really shouldn't be down here, Stan."

Fiddleford turned to the other scientist, "Do you think he can stay the night, Ford? I mean, he could work with us or something, temporarily. Ya know for protection against other possible vengeful mafias that you've 'forgotten' to tell me about."

Ford glared at his assistant, "You're not going to let this one go, are you?"

He grinned, "Ya know me to well, Stanford Pines. No, I won't. Besides, I like him. He's not as serious as you are. Besides he can also help us with the heavy lifting with the you know what." He nodded at the quiet unfinished machine behind them in the other room.

The three of them stepped into the elevator and Stanley looked at them, "So, can I stay? I don't really have money or anything currently. And now I'm going to pretty much be on the run from Rico when I don't come back..."

Stanford sighed, "Ugh, fine... Just, just don't touch anything, okay?"

Fidds whooped, "Yes! Now I don't have to go monster huntin' anymore!"

"Wait, _monster_ hunting?"

Ford groaned.


End file.
